Phantomhive Follies
by Aservis Roturier
Summary: Hundred-word vignettes (by MS Word's count,) of silly moments about the manor. I'll probably keep this open-ended and add to it as I think of new ideas.
1. Chapter 1

Phantomhive Follies

Phantomhive manor had a reputation for peculiarities, but that didn't prepare Mey-Rin for the day she'd slipped while bathing. She shrieked, only to behold Sebastian pop out of a wall after ethering through multiple floors and walls because he'd thought his young master was in some sort of danger. She was still wearing her night shift (it was winter) and only standing in four inches of hot water, but Sebastian's performance earned another screech.

"My my, Miss Maid, what an overwrought imagination," he smirked, reversing his performance.

Afterwards, the whole manor knew whenever Mey was bathing by her hopeful shrieks.

Finnian was no thief, but he did love Phantomhive's carriage horses. Sebastian wasn't fooled by him sneaking apples or carrots from the pantry occasionally, but when he swiped two of that season's last wizened D'Arcy Spices from the table where Sebastian was assembling tarts for a party months before any new crop was expected, the butler determined to cure him.

Finnian ran outside, but instead of the barn and stabled beasts, he found a flaming carriage hitched to nightmares and a driver in stilettos asking for 'that apple thief, bound for Hell.'

Apples flew and Finnian fainted: a reformed character.

Ciel enjoyed an unanticipated chance to practice keeping his face straight under duress as he stood listening to Bard's sheepish explanation of how he'd blown the side of the kitchen, including the chimney, cooker and Sebastian's favourite cat (whom he'd brought in out of the blizzard,) out into the formal rose garden, while the irate butler leaped about behind the cook's back, pantomiming choking, stabbing repeatedly, then (Ciel was _pretty_ sure,) ripping off an arm and beating the 'cook' to death with it.

The boy felt proud of himself; he'd not given it away by so much as a twitch.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: this one demanded 200 words. Demanded...

.

" I need new measurements, I need them from everyone, and I need to take them NAKED."

"Don't be absurd, Ms. Hopkins, what difference will you being undressed make?"

"I didn't say *I* was - ooh!"

"Anyway you're near enough as is," he drawled, hiking a brow and eyeing the tailor's legs, which as usual were on display ankle to hips. "Absurd woman," Sebastian muttered. "You only want an unobstructed grab at Mey-Rin's tits." Nina gasped in scandalised outrage. "And do stop that. You look like a goldfish someone's goosed up the vent with a cold finger."

"Such remarks to a lady could cost you your position!"

"Lady? To whom are you referring Ms. Hopkins?"

"Wipe off that smirk, Mr. Michaelis. You deserve what your master's going to do to you when I return. Just you wait!"

"Do you really think so? Go on then, I'll wait."

Sebastian spent the time profitably, putting together a large arrangement of drooping Lady Banks roses in a pretty ormolu and blue glass Le Creusot vase for the foyer. Soon Nina marched back in, face blazing.

"Well?"

"He laughed and asked me who I thought you'd heard the fish thing from first."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: At last we learn what Tanaka's been laughing at all this time.

Tanaka sat back, resting his head against the warm east wall of the manor, hugging his mug of tea, grateful for its heat on his arthritic fingers. The frail Japanese sighed, a trifle homesick, closed his dark eyes and imagined he was in his village again, not growing old in this faraway England.

Back home it would be time for cherry blossom viewing. Strolling and picnicking couples would contemplate the beauty and impermanence of life as exemplified by the brief, fragile blossoms. Here, though, pear and apple were covering the rolling hills with drifts of clean white petals like new-fallen snow.

Both places were islands, with damp, chilly springs. But the birdsong, scents, even the teas were all very different.

"Morning Mister Tanaka!" Finnian went hurrying by. Japan had its share of funny people too, but none were anything like Phantomhive's sniper-maid, plant-icidal gardener or their explosive American 'cook.'

 _And Japan has oni, neko-baka, tengu, tanuki-akuma of all sorts, but there's none to beat that silly demon sneaking his cats indoors or desperately trying to work out how to cook human food he can't even taste._

"Hoh-hoh-hoh," the Steward chuckled, "such entertainments!"

East or west, life was good.


	4. Chapter 4

Bard was improving his kitchen skills. His latest lesson from 'that know-it-all butler' was a 'simple' fruit tart _._

 _I done the crust okay... had to work awful long to get that shape, though. Meaning it'll probably chew like shoe leather_.

He was now placing what seemed like thousands of thinly-cut apple slices in a continuous, fan-like spiral.

"There!" he grinned, poking in the central piece with a flourish. Sadly, his triumphant cry dislodged the ashy tip from his cigarette. It landed dead-centre and dusted every single apple slice.

 _I'll jus' hide it with fresh-ground pepper. Nobody'll even know th' difference._


	5. Chapter 5

_Sebastian stood in the door's shadow, watching Bard's every move. He ground his fangs the twenty minutes it took the man to wrestle the crust into the tart tin with hot, sweaty paws, thanked the Powers he'd been smart enough to pre-core and pre-cut the apples paper-thin with inhuman precision. It had taken twenty seconds._

 _He even overlooked when the man forgot his carefully created caramel glaze to anoint the sharply sweet Bramleys, raising the dish to a tatin. But Sebastian drew the line at_ _ashes and pepper._

 _If he cold-cocked Bard now, he'd have time to wash the apples and make a new crust in time for dessert._

 _The 'cook' woke in his bed around 9,_ _ **another**_ _mysterious goose egg on his skull. He had an idea how it got there too._


End file.
